“Yes,” I say. “Not that you know any actual hippies.”
“Like you do either!” She laughs and flips through a rack of dresses. I point out two that are prettier than the rest. “Something is up with you. Are you still sad about Lyndsey?”
“Nothing’s up with me,” I say. “This summer’s just … weirder than I expected.”
CHAPTER 9
The best thing possible happens on Monday morning at work. No, Jordi doesn’t declare her eternal love or even bring me any delicious leftovers. Okay, she does tell me to relax when we arrive and makes me a cup of coffee, but that isn’t the point.
The point? Maggie brought in the new fall line!
Sketches of all six new dresses, as well as samples of each. And by samples, I mean beautiful actual dresses that I get to look at and touch. Maggie didn’t just have the teeny tiny sample size made, either; she has plus size samples for each dress, too. I might actually wear Lemonberry’s plus size sample size, but I try to only casually mention that fact. I’m sure Maggie has a lot to do with these dresses right now and isn’t ready to hand them over to one of her interns.
Oh my god, but how great would it be if she was?
“These are incredible,” I say. “I’m so jealous you know how to design dresses. I wish I had that skill. Or making dresses! Once my sister and I tried to take a class over at Sew L.A. It didn’t go well.”
“Abby, you’re only seventeen, give yourself a break,” Maggie says with a smile. “I didn’t learn any of this until I was in my twenties.”
I run my hands over a floral dress with three-quarter sleeves, a flared skirt, and a matching belt. “I love this fabric design. It’s so tropical. Like my parrot dress but … more restrained.”
“You have a parrot dress?” Maggie and Jordi ask together.
I nod.
“I demand you wear it on Wednesday,” Maggie tells me. “Please.”
Jordi and I spend the rest of the morning studying the dresses. Jordi’s making notes for the kinds of photos she’d like to take, while I’m thinking about how these six dresses comprise the fall line. There’s one that’s almost casual, with a lighter weight fabric and a less streamlined cut, all the way to a fuchsia taffeta with a voluminous skirt. Someone like me—well, like me with more money—could easily want all of these dresses. But I can see how someone who only wanted formalwear could stop in for the fuchsia dress, or someone like Maliah who’s trendy but not into strictly retro looks would look amazing in the casual bright white dress.
I can’t wait until a full selection of the dresses is actually in the store and people can buy them.
“Hey, what did you bring for lunch?” Jordi asks me. “Can it wait until Wednesday? Do you want to go out? I have cash if you didn’t bring any.”
“I have cash, too,” I say. “Sure. I don’t even care if it can wait until Wednesday. It has, like, a disturbing amount of yucca.”
Jordi pulls her bag over her shoulder and neck. “What’s yucca substituting for?”
I grab my purse and follow her outside. “Croutons. Isn’t that sad?”
“So your mom’s big enemy is carbs, huh.”
“I mean, I get that you shouldn’t have carbs nonstop,” I say. “But never seems like … it’s extreme. But I guess Norah’s extreme.”
Jordi looks up and down our block of Glendale Boulevard. “Where do you want to go?”
“Bon Vivant?” I ask. “They have really good sandwiches.”
“Yeah, let’s get you some bread,” Jordi says.
We walk down the block and get into the long line. I grab menus for us, and there’s a moment as I hand one to her that our fingertips graze. It’s intense, like one time I touched a wire on a broken radio.
“The dresses were cool,” Jordi says. “I hope Maggie gives all of them to you.”
“I was hoping that, too,” I say. “Is that selfish? I feel like you probably don’t want any of the dresses.”
“Nah, I’m not really a dress type,” she says.
Does that mean something? Please let it mean something. Lots of girls, regardless of whether they like girls or not, aren’t into wearing dresses. I’m into wearing almost nothing but dresses and I’m as gay as heck. But please, please, please let it mean something.
“Your look is so defined,” I say. “Which I love.”
Why did I say love?
“‘Defined’?” she asks with a smile.
“You know, like Laine. You could pick out an outfit for Laine without her having to get involved. It’s the same for you. I think having a really defined look is a really key part of having great style.”
“But you have great style,” Jordi says, “and I never would have known to pick out a parrot dress for you.”
“Maybe once you see it, you’ll feel differently,” I say. “And, thank you.”
The people right in front of us are taking forever to deliberate between soups, and I shoot Jordi a look.
“It’s a tough decision, Abby,” she says.
It’s finally our turn to order, and we both get sandwiches like people who aren’t the least bit afraid of bread. Since Jordi orders first, she offers to find a table for us, and there’s something about making my way over to her that feels really good.
Oh my god. Like, I really cannot ever again make fun of Maliah in my head (or otherwise) for how doofy she can be over Trevor. I’m literally finding enjoyment in walking across a restaurant and locating a coworker at a table.
“So, hey.” Jordi leans toward me a little. “I have a proposal.”
A proposal.
Okay, I don’t need to hear anything else she says to know it is not that kind of proposal. We are only seventeen, and we are not dating. But the word, oh my god. I can’t help but
